Chivalry
by officialthomaspaine
Summary: Chivalry, a knightly behavior thought to be long dead, still thrives inside one particular Belgian journalist, but it will take time and effort for him to prove it. A modernized Tintin fic, rated T for language and possible themes. ON HIATUS
1. Prologue and Chapter One

****Chivalry**  
><strong>An _Adventures of Tintin_ Fanfic by SouthernImagineer/ecto1B**  
><strong>(A Modern Retelling)**  
><strong>Prologue and Chapter One.

* * *

><p><span>Prologue.<span>

"_I want you to leave."_

"_What?"_

"_Go back to Belgium. To your life. Save your job. Go back to writing articles on crime lords and drug cartels and—"_

"_Annalise."_

"_What?"_

"_I'm not leaving."_

"_And why is that? You don't—"_

"_I saw the note, Anna. I saw what it said. I saw the threat they left you. And because of it, I'm even more resolved to stay here than before. I will uncover the murderer's identity, whether you like it or not."_

"_Tin…"_

"_They could _kill_ you, Anna. I won't let that happen. You read the note. The only thing standing between you and the barrel of a gun is me, and it's going to stay like that. I'm not moving. I'm not leaving."_

"… _Tin… "_

"_You saw what they did to Noah."_

"… _Don't bring him up."_

"_You saw the blood. It was all over the bed."_

"_Tin, I'm serious. Please stop."_

"_He was tortured, Anna. _Tortured._ That can't happen to you. I won't let it. I did not come all this way to give up, to let my client throw in the towel. I did not come all this way to see you killed like he was. That was never part of our agreement."_

"_And what was? To have _you_ slaughtered instead? You've already been shot in the leg for me, Tintin. You've traveled across America for me. Our agreement was to find my fiancé, to rescue him from whatever mayhem he'd gotten himself into. And guess what? We found him. We found him in my hotel room, bloodied and dead as a doornail. Isn't that enough for a story? Isn't that enough to satisfy your loyal fans?"_

"_My fans are not what's important, Anna. Bringing the murderer to justice is what matters. Uncovering the truth behind your fiancé's death is what matters. And now that they're going after you, you expect me to just walk away? What kind of a person do you take me for, Annalise?"_

"_You're a journalist, an objective writer, a man that has never been candid with his emotions until now. You've given me no reason to take you as anything but impartial, Tintin. What if this sudden dedication to my case is all a ploy?"_

"_You can't credit me with a bit of chivalry?"_

"_Chivalry is dead, Tintin. It's been that way for a long time. It's not a valid excuse."_

"_What, then, do you want me to say? If I begin broadcasting how I really feel, you'll accuse my emotions of being synthetic."_

"_Has it ever occurred to you that maybe I just don't want you here in the first place?"_

"_A false declaration to try and make me leave."_

"_What makes you think that?"_

"_You told Captain Haddock. You told him you had feelings for me. I'm not a fool, Annalise. We've spent an entire month together on this. You don't _actually_ want me gone. You just don't want to see me hurt."_

"… _Tintin, I want you to leave."_

"_No, you don't."_

"_Yes, I do. I want you out of here, Tintin. I want you back in Belgium. I want you back to your job. I want you as far away from _me_ as possible. Do you understand?"_

"_You're making a mistake, Anna."_

"_Am I now? Is this really the mistake I made? Or maybe it was a mistake to have even asked for your help in the first place."_

"…"

"_What?"_

"_You don't mean that."_

"_I do. Noah is dead. The other company took over his job. They won. There was no point in our efforts, Tintin. Nothing changed. I shouldn't have taken up your time with this."_

"_Don't say that."_

"_We didn't even make a dent in their plans. It was useless. Tintin, you need to go home. It's over."_

"_It's not—"_

"_It's _over_, Tintin. Go home."_

* * *

><p><span>Chapter One.<span>

__One Month Earlier__

"Y-You can't be serious, man. This has gotta be a joke." Noah took another step backwards, hands gripping for anything that would provide stability. He finally found the back of a chair, and instantly his fingernails dug themselves into the rough green fabric. Soon he was hanging from the musty textile; his oxfords slid out from under him across the wood floor. "This sort of stuff only happens in movies and shit. Not… not _here_. Not to _me_." A tingling, feverish swelling began penetrating the back of his throat, and he gulped again and again to stop it. "Please… please p-put the gun down…"

The man standing above him remained perfectly still, like a statue, like a mannequin in a store window. Not even his facial expression changed. His graying eyebrows were locked atop a pair of rusty brown eyes; his mouth, resting beneath a crude attempt at a mustache, pursed into an unpleasantly dry shape. Noah faintly recognized the man—not in any way that would help identify him, but in a way that had Noah frantically racking his brain for answers.

"Please… I will beg if I have to." Another gulp, this one accompanied by a single shudder, dominated his body for a brief moment. "You can't do this to me, man. I'm _engaged_. To a beautiful woman." One hand released the chair and was held up in view of his assailant. A wedding band sat around his ring finger. "Don't take me from her, man. Put the gun down."

"I'm not here to kill you, Mr. Woodcraft." The man's deep, baritone voice held a great deal of control, and Noah flinched. He was not expecting a response. "I'm here to apprehend you, to lead you from this facility and into more private quarters. No questions asked." His arm retracted somewhat, and the barrel of the gun changed positions, aiming at the ceiling. "Now… if you would come with me…"

Noah had no intention of fighting back. He regained his footing and stood. "Where are you taking me?"

Instantly, the man reacted, tightening his grip on the gun and placing it at the base of Noah's lapel. "I said _no questions asked_, Mr. Woodcraft."

Noah almost screamed right then and there. He stumbled backwards at the impact, landing on the hardwood and scuffing the floor with his shoes. It was a comical spill, but the moment was too serious for a studio audience to have laughed in reaction.

"Get up."

Noah wiped his forehead and hobbled back onto his feet.

"If you would like to remain alive, Mr. Woodcraft, then I advise you to heed my commands, along with the instructions given to you by my associates. If you do, you have nothing to be afraid of. If you don't," he trailed off, and Noah watched in horror as his finger toyed with the trigger, "the consequences might be severe. Do we have an understanding?"

With the gun still in his line of sight, and the man's unyielding gaze locked on him, Noah took a heavy breath. Sure, he didn't like it, but what was there to do? He had to stay alive, for Annalise's sake.

_Annalise_. The name rang like church bells in his head. _I should text her. Get her to send help. She might be all the way in Louisville, but dammit, she can still figure out a way to rescue me. Maybe she can contact the police, or hire a private investigator._ Noah dipped his head minutely. _Yes, I'll text her. Warn her. When I have a moment, I'll whip my phone out and send her a quick message._

The man stepped behind Noah. He jabbed the gun at his back. "Let's go."

The two made their way out of the conference room and through the empty hallways of the establishment. The lights in the corridors were dimmed, if not shut off completely, because no one was supposed to be there this late at night. As they walked, Noah wondered why he had to be so stupid, thinking there had been a mandatory meeting at seven at night. His ignorance was what had gotten him captured.

"Wait here," the man's voice boomed suddenly.

"Fine." As his captor went to peer down the adjoining hallway, checking to see if the coast was clear, Noah spun around. He whipped his iPhone from his side pocket and immediately snapped it on.

_What do I say?_ Noah drummed his thumbs against the side of the phone as he thought. _Oh, I know._ Hastily, he typed his message and clicked send. _I hope she reads it in time._

A small green speech bubble appeared on the right of the screen, containing his message. It was with urgency and not checked for errors, which was bound to tell Annalise something. Noah's texts were always grammatically correct, and appropriately capitalized, too. He always took great pride in what he said, and believed that using shortened versions of simple words was an indication of laziness; a quality frowned upon by fellow coworkers and experts in his field of engineering. He especially disliked abridging his messages to Annalise, who he was convinced deserved a sense of priority in his life. She was his intended, after all.

"Hey!"

Noah stuffed his phone away and pivoted back around.

"Yes?"

Like a marionette whose strings had been cut, Noah keeled over as a heavy punch made contact at his chest. Luckily for him, he was able to stay conscious, but the throbbing numbness surging through his body was almost enough to change that. He cried out as the pain registered.

"Don't think of running, or hiding things from me. It's pointless to try anything. Now get up."

Noah groaned in response.

"I said, get up!" A large hand clamped around his arm, and suddenly he was hoisted into the air. "We're leaving this damn place _now_."

Noah succumbed to the blow right then, which was an utterly inconvenient time to be passing out. His body shuddered and shut down little by little, and for the fourth time that day, his feet slid out from under him. He couldn't recall much, but the last thing he remembered was tasting blood on his lips as his face made contact with the floor.

It was the essence of defeat, he remembered, to taste the blood, to feel the rusty red liquid stain his teeth and trickle down his chin. He disregarded it, however. Noah had more important things to be worrying about now.


	2. Chapter Two

**Chivalry**  
>An <em>Adventures of Tintin<em> Fanfic by SouthernImagineer/ecto1B  
>(A Modern Retelling)<br>Two.

* * *

><p>"Blue blistering <em>barnacles<em>, boy, you brought that ridiculous contraption here with you? And they call you _cultured_…"

The young man seated on the couch was unaffected by his companion's chiding. "I thought a famously erudite individual was permitted to spend their free time any way he chooses, Captain? Weren't you the one who stressed how important it is to unwind after a long period of work?" With one hand, he indicated the nearby desk, where hundreds of papers were strewn about a 27-inch iMac. Pencils, pens, and notebooks also piled themselves across the sizable oak desktop, creating a sort of writer's haven, one that had most certainly been used in the last hour or so. "I finished typing up my article, and it's on its way to the _Daily Reporter_ as we speak. Now, as you recommend constantly, I am relaxing." He returned his gaze to the widescreen TV.

"Well, don't 'cha have anythin' better to do than play video games?" It was Captain Haddock's turn to gesture widely. "That documentary on Ernest Hemingway that you wanted to watch recorded while we were gone. Why don't 'cha watch that?"

Realizing that the older man did not intend to go down so easily, Tintin paused the game and sighed. He dropped the Xbox controller onto his lap. "I may be twenty-three years old, Captain, but the land of video games still provides a unparalleled brand of escape for me. I've been writing all of last night and this morning, so a documentary about a writer wouldn't do me any good." He paused. "And I'd read, but I don't feel like starting anything new."

The captain pursed his lips behind his beard. "You need a vacation, lad."

"But we just got back home."

"I know, but we can't have you lounging around all day, killin' trolls and fightin' dragons. You need to get out. You need to go somewhere you've never been before, so ya aren't tempted to go huntin' for stories." Haddock itched the back of his neck. "Some place in America, perhaps."

Tintin let out a small groan. He rubbed his hand across his face. "The last thing I want to do is get on another plane, Captain."

"So you'd rather stay here, and have the _Daily Reporter_ get on your back about another story, eh?" The captain crossed his arms across his royal blue sweater and narrowed his eyes. "Once they get your story, they're gonna want ya to start another one. They'll make ya go somewhere you _don't_ wanna go. But if you demand a vacation…"

Tintin was already standing, reaching for his cell phone on the leather ottoman. He loved writing, and he surely wouldn't mind another story, but his mind had turned to mush during the past two weeks. Shadowing the leader of a notorious European drug cartel hadn't done much for him creative-wise.

Perhaps the captain was right. Perhaps he _did_ need a vacation.

"I'll call the airport, then? Schedule the quickest flight to America?"

At last, Haddock cracked a smile. "You do that."

A few minutes later, Tintin was on the phone with one of the airport's representatives. He had relocated himself back to his desk; he attempted to organize the chaos while holding the phone to his ear with his shoulder. At first, there was no change, but as he delved deeper into the conversation, inquiring in rapid French about the possible flight destinations, the clutter atop his desk vanished. Papers were neatly—if not haphazardly—stacked in one corner; notebooks filled to the brim of records and entries about his travels found their place in a drawer. Captain Haddock watched this disorderly organization, which was pure irony, in a sense, and listened to his companion's tongue lash out words that he couldn't understand.

"_Merci, monsieur_." Tintin hung up the phone and spun his chair to face Haddock. "I booked us a flight."

The captain dipped his head. He was now reclined on the couch, petting Snowy, Tintin's white terrier, as the dog slept against the man's leg. "Where are we off to?"

Tintin stood and pushed in his chair. "The places they had direct flights to were cities I've already visited, so I chose one that will take us somewhere new." He brushed at his sweater. "I'm not quite sure _where_ it is, or what there is to do there, but it sounded nice."

"What city?"

"Um… _Louisville_?"

The captain shrugged lightly, careful not to wake the sleeping canine beside him. "I've never heard of such a place."

"Exactly. I haven't either. It'll be a nice escape for both of us, since we've never even heard of it. Like you said, we need to find a place where I won't become distracted by stories."

"When do we leave?"

Tintin rested his back against the desk and braced himself with his palms. "The flight's in four hours. I'll call the _Daily Reporter_, tell them about my 'vacation'." He made air-quotes, smiling as he did so. "Captain, I've got to be honest; I'm excited."

"I'm glad ya are, Tintin. You deserve a break."

_He does. That lad's been working himself to death. I planned on saying something to him earlier, but it wasn't my place then. It really wasn't my place even now, but I'm glad he's come to his senses._

It took Tintin a good minute to respond. "I know. I do." With a sigh, he headed back to his desk chair. "I'll call them now. Why don't you head upstairs and start packing?"

Haddock was happy to oblige. He gently nudged the sleeping dog away from his lap (he froze at one point, thinking that the dog was waking up by the snuffles he made, but Snowy was only dreaming), got up, and exited the room, leaving Tintin to another whirlwind conversation laden with French.


	3. Chapter Three

**Chivalry**  
>An <em>Adventures of Tintin<em> Fanfic by SouthernImagineer/ecto1B  
>(A Modern Retelling)<br>Three.

* * *

><p>He hunkered down on his knees, rested his chin atop the porcelain bowl's rim, and shut his eyes. A groan of frustration resonated in his throat.<p>

"Why me?" he muttered weakly, his jaw trembling. He lifted a hand to wipe the sweat forming on his brow. "I haven't been here longer than a day, and I've already become well-acquainted with the toilet."

Footsteps drew nearer, and soon Captain Haddock was standing in the bathroom doorway. "The food didn't sit well with ya, lad?"

Tintin nodded minutely, not risking leaving the bowl to glance at his friend. Instead, he kept his face trained downward. "I think I must've eaten too much…" He winced painfully and ducked further into the toilet. "_American _food."

The captain went to stand above the young man. He leaned down and lightly patted his back. "There, there. Jus' let it all out, Tintin. Your stomach's not used to feelin' like this. Take it easy." When Tintin was finished, Haddock stood. "Let me get'cha a washcloth for your forehead. My mum used to do that for me when I had my head in the can. It always helped."

Tintin groaned again. "Thank you, Captain," he croaked.

The captain was right; the washcloth, indeed, helped. Haddock drenched the fabric in lukewarm water and held it below Tintin's hairline. The relaxing warmth was able to soothe him back into a less-queasy state, and Tintin eventually felt his body slacken and his stomach unclench—a good sign that brought about feeble dry heaves.

"Do ya want me to stay here with ya until you're finished?" the captain offered.

Tintin knew he could handle the rest on his own, but a juvenile instinct inside of him yearned to keep a friend at his side during this moment of weakness. "Yes, yes please."

With a slight smile, Haddock again pressed the towel to the boy's forehead. "You'll be fine, lad. This vacation will help ya wind down. A bit of relaxin' and you'll be right as rain."

Tintin shook his head and pushed the washcloth away, guilt flooding his eyes. It was about time he came clean. He hated lying to his companion. Steadily, he rose from the linoleum floor and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "Captain," he began steadily, doing his best to keep his gaze trained on the man before him. "I'm not on vacation any more. The woman I had dinner with—she's my newest client." He paused, watching the captain's smile gradually disappear. "She was the one who called this afternoon; we'd never met previously. Her fiancé was kidnapped, and she desperately needs help. I couldn't say no." Wincing, he shuffled his feet and looked down. "I'm sorry I lied to you, but this was a matter I _had_ to attend to…"

The captain narrowed his eyes. "Thundering typhoons, Tintin! Ya couldn't just say no? Ya didn't come all this way to get bogged down with work! This is supposed to be your vacation!"

Abruptly, a surge of strength flooded his senses, and Tintin's head snapped back up. His voice rose as he spoke, full of conviction. "This woman was _sobbing_ over the phone, Captain. I wasn't about to ignore her! I'm objective, but not _insensitive_. I cannot ignore a cry for help." Swallowing back his urge to again familiarize himself with the toilet, Tintin stalked out of the bathroom and went to lie atop the closer of the two beds. He heard Haddock following him, but he ignored the footsteps and curled beside Snowy on the blue comforter.

"So what are ya plannin' to do, then?" Haddock wanted to know, coming to stand at the edge of the bed with his arms hugging his leather jacket. Tintin had to admit, the captain could hold a great deal of restraint when he wanted to, or when the situation was becoming uncomfortable. It was rare for him to do so, but since the two had become such good friends, Tintin noticed Haddock was putting more effort into controlling his temper. He admired that, and he felt bad for raising his voice in the first place. "You're jus' gonna pack up and leave with this woman to find her fiancé? What about Snowy an' I?"

"Snowy's coming with me," Tintin replied, rolling onto his back. "You are welcome to remain here, go back to Belgium, or join us. It's completely up to you."

Haddock let out a heavy sigh. "Blistering barnacles, Tintin; ya don't give me much of a choice." He went over and sat on the opposite bed, leaning his elbows on his knees. A heavy, drawn-out sigh escaped him. "What did you two talk about? Th' woman, I mean. What did she tell ya?"

Tintin was eager to tell the story. "On Friday, she received a text from her fiancé, who is on a business trip. The text was a genuine train wreck. From what she could tell, he was begging her to send help, for something had happened and he was in danger of losing his life. It was only up until she saw my name in the papers this morning that she decided her fiancé's safety needed investigating, and that's why she called me. We met at the Hard Rock Café to discuss everything. It's been decided that I will accompany her to Huntsville, Alabama, where her fiancé is supposed to be, to make inquires about Mr. Woodcraft's location."

The captain appeared to be mulling everything over in his head. His attention shifted to the hotel room window, where the faint rays of early morning light had begun to spawn behind the horizon. The darkness was reluctantly fading in succession, painting the park below the hotel an eerie gold.

Finally, he met the redhead's eyes.

"There's somethin' more, isn't there?" When Tintin didn't respond, he went on. "If that were everythin', you wouldn't 'ave taken the job. Ya need somethin' more for it to be a good story. Ya would've sent her to the police to let them handle it if it were that simple, but it's not. That wasn't enough for ya, was it?"

The smallest of smiles crept onto the journalist's face. "You know me too well, Captain. Yes, there was something else." Now, he lowered his voice, as if someone were listening in to their conversation. "Mr. Woodcraft is one of the top engineers at DEMCO."

"DEMCO?"

"A government-controlled engineering corporation widely known for their success and influence over the country's economy. They're one of the wealthiest companies out there today."

"And because this man's an employee at DEMCO…"

"This story is extremely valuable," Tintin finished for him. "The woman told me that three separate firms—one of them being DEMCO—were up for a top-secret government job. When the two other companies lost the job to DEMCO, their CEOs _publicly_ vowed have their revenge. In other words, they refused to sit on the sidelines and watch as this hugely prominent project slipped from their fingers." The grin on his face, ridden with his reporter-like thirst for a juicy story, continued to grow as he spoke. "Two weeks after that statement, DEMCO's newest employee—a man fresh out of college and brimming with talent—sent his fiancée an urgent text message…"

The captain's eyes widened. "Woodcraft."

"Exactly. This story could be my best yet, Captain. I've dealt with multiple governments around the world, but never have I been given a chance to inspect the United States like this. I'll be entering uncharted territory—"

"And what if the U.S. government doesn't want a reporter stickin' his nose into places he shouldn't?" Haddock warned. "Ya might get into loads of trouble, not to mention ruinin' relations between America and Belgium."

Tintin considered this briefly. "As far as I'm aware, relations between Belgium and the U.S. are very friendly at the moment. There shouldn't any problems. Besides, this is one of the government's employees. They'll want him returned safely just as much as his fiancée does."

Blue eyes that were settled atop a prodigious nose steadily filled with fatherly concern. "Are ya sure about this, lad? It sounds… risky."

"And my assignments in the past were child's play?" Tintin reached over and scooped Snowy onto his lap, the terrier yipping in delight at his master's touch. "I'll be fine. _We'll_ be fine. We'll uncover Woodcraft's kidnapper, and things can return to normal." He stood once more, depositing the white dog back on the bed. "Then, _maybe_, I can take a vacation."

Haddock glanced back to watch the young man vanish into the bathroom. "_Now_ where are ya going?"

Tintin poked his head out of the doorway. "I'm sick, remember?"


	4. Chapter Four

**Chivalry**  
>An <em>Adventures of Tintin<em> Fanfic by SouthernImagineer/ecto1B  
>(A Modern Retelling)<br>Four.

* * *

><p>Reluctantly, Tintin opened his eyes, blinking back the midmorning rays of light glaring from the window. He laid his wrist across the bridge of his nose, groaning, stretching, and wiggling his toes beneath the sheets. Stomach pains, matched with an obtrusively sharp stinging at the back of his esophagus, forced the young man to groan again; this time considerably louder.<p>

Water. He needed water.

With some urgency, the redhead peeled back the covers and let his bare feet sink into the carpet. He rose, taking into account the parts of his body that ached as he did so, and treaded to the room's armoire. A half-empty water bottle sat there, beside his laptop bag and iPhone. Hastily, the cap was ripped off, the bottle squeezed between pale fingers, and the clear, frosty liquid sent trickling down his throat.

"Ahh." Tintin finished the water bottle in one chug. He gently wiped his mouth with his forearm, tossed the plastic container into the nearby trashcan, and wandered back to his bed, where Snowy lay, fast asleep. With light fingers, Tintin grazed the spot behind the dog's ears, making him snuffle in his sleep. Tintin smirked.

"You keep sleeping, Snowy," he murmured. "Good dog."

His gaze left the terrier and traveled over to the other bed. Haddock was absent. The sound of running water in the bathroom signaled the captain was in the midst of a shower, and this forced Tintin to rummage fervently through his mind. How long had Haddock remained awake to watch over him? How long had the two spoken about Tintin's newest assignment? Tintin vaguely recalled waking up at two in the morning to deal with his sickness, and at that very moment it was only nine. Had he kept the captain up all night, worrying about him?

By chance, Tintin's eyes now caught the bedside table. A small, tan phone sat there, evoking a state of deep contemplation. That was the phone he'd answered yesterday, the one that had caused this turbulent apprehension. That was the phone Miss Crane had contacted him from, in tears and panicked. That was the phone that had brought about this feeling of vulnerability within him, a feeling he utterly abhorred. And as Tintin thought further, he had to ask himself: was the food he'd consumed to blame for his sickness, or was it the abruptness and uncertainty of his newest assignment?

Tintin mused on the dialogue they'd engaged in the day before. It was surely one he would not forget.

"_Hello?"_

"_H-Hello. Is… is this Mr. Tintin?"_

Her words had been jumbles, weakened attempts at sentences. Pauses were plentiful. A thick, dry hoarseness bubbled in her voice. Of course Tintin inquired about it. He would have been stupid not to.

"_Yes, this is he. Are… you all right, miss?"_

"_Honestly… no, no sir, I'm far f-from all right. My name is Annalise C-Crane, and I need to speak w-with… with you, urgently. I believe I have… a good st-story for your newspaper…"_

He knew this would happen. He knew someone in America would come to him, seeking help. The _Daily Reporter_ had let it slip to the news stations in America that he would be vacationing there, and they'd obviously picked the story up. How else would this young woman come to know of his presence?

"_Do you? In that case, Miss Crane, you have my full and undivided attention."_

What else was he to say?

"_Well… m-my fiancé… he… h-he is…"_

She had been in tears. She could not get the words out, could not force them from her tongue. Tintin frowned and moved the phone to his left hand.

"_Miss Crane, there is no need to cry. Everything will be all right. I am listening to your story, and I will help you. What's wrong with your fiancé? Has something happened to him?"_

"_He's… he's in danger. I th-think he may be hurt. He won't answer his ph-phone. He doesn't respond to texts, either."_

At that point in the exchange, Tintin had felt his heart drop and his expectations sink. This was not the type of case he liked getting into, and it was not his place to look for missing people. That task still fell with the police.

"_Have you spoken to the police about this, miss? This seems like a job for them to handle. File a missing person's report? I'm sure they'll—"_

"_No, you don't understand, Mr. Tintin. My fiancé… my fiancé w-works for DEMCO…"_

Tintin remembered their phone conversation word-for-word. He had to, to help him wrap it completely around his head. DEMCO _was _an incredibly important company to the United States. A missing employee was huge, especially if it was thanks to a rival business. Miss Crane had been right that it was a big story; Tintin couldn't wait to see how his employer at the _Daily Reporter_ handled such an enormous article. It was definitely front-page material, not unlike the other stories he'd handed in during his career. He would surely get paid bundles for the article.

But it wasn't just about the article. Tintin valued the scenario just as much. His thirst for adventure—like Haddock often put it—was simply unquenchable, and embarking on such an exploit was sure to appease his restless mind. Though a bit mind numbing and irrevocably vague, it made his fingertips tingle at the mere thought of it.

A voice broke Tintin from his thoughts.

"Morning, landlubber." Captain Haddock exited the bathroom dressed in a crisp t-shirt and jeans, his waterlogged hair sitting erratically rumpled atop his head and falling across his forehead. Water droplets trickled down his face, some sliding down his massive nose.

"Morning, Captain." Tintin wrapped his arms about his chest and flashed a friendly smile at his companion. "Have a nice shower?"

"I did, thanks for askin'. Did ya just wake up?

"Yes." Tintin paused to glance at Snowy, who was yawning and stretching atop the bed. "I think I'll take a shower, too."

"It's all yours. Are we meetin' with the woman today?"

Tintin, who had started towards the bathroom door, stopped. "We're meeting her down at the city park at noon."

"To talk?"

"Yes, to talk, and to plan when we'll leave for Alabama."

Haddock made a face. "I've heard of tha' state. _Alabama_. Isn't that where those people called _rednecks_ live?"

Another smile clicked onto Tintin's face. "We won't know until we get there. DEMCO has a huge facility there in an area known as Cummings Research Park, and another one inside the government's military base, Redstone Arsenal. Mr. Woodcraft was meant to be working at both locations, traveling to and from each site to speak with officials. According to Miss Crane, he was supposedly attending a meeting at the Research Park, so we'll start investigating there." He placed his finger against his chin. "It still baffles me, though."

The captain raised an eyebrow. "What does?"

"If one of the rival companies _did_ kidnap him," Tintin began, focusing his gaze on the floor as he spoke, "they would be risking their reputation." He hesitated. "Why would they do that? Why would they jeopardize everything to detain Mr. Woodcraft? There has to be something more."

"_More_?"

"Another motive, perhaps." Sighing, Tintin continued to walk to the bathroom. "It's… complicated. I'll think it over as I shower."

"Good. I'll start packin' my stuff, I guess." Haddock lumbered to his suitcase, which sat at the foot of his bed. "We won't be here fer long, so I might as well."

Tintin watched the captain begin refilling the luggage with his multiple sweaters and coats. He noticed the dark circles beneath his eyes, which squinted with fatigue. At this observation, Tintin frowned, noting the truth. Yes, Haddock had stayed up with him as he vomited. Yes, he'd stayed by his side until he collapsed with exhaustion. And yes, Tintin was about to drag him on another whirlwind adventure, one without much sleep, one with danger at every corner. In all honesty, Tintin felt rotten for doing this to his friend, but it was unavoidable now. The adventure would proceed.

With another sigh gripping his lungs, Tintin wandered into the bathroom and shut the door.

* * *

><p>"<em>You're kidding, right<em>?"

"Eleni, why would I kid about something so serious?" The young woman gripped the cordless phone tightly up to her ear, wincing, noticing how painful it was to do so. Her earrings made it difficult to speak on the phone; the M&M sized buds were designed with a long, sharp back. As she pressed the receiver harder against her head, the keen point prodded the skin beside her jaw. However, this was no accident. Annalise often used this technique to signify when she needed to hang up. When the conversation worsened, her instincts were to constrict her fingers, and that generated pain.

This conversation was no different.

"_You hired some foreign guy to track down your fiancé? Are you _kidding _me, Anna? Really, are you _kidding_? You ignored my advice and went to some man instead of the police. Anna, you're not this stupid! Why did you do this?_"

Annalise squeezed the phone so hard, she yelped. Her earring almost drew blood.

"Eleni, listen to me. I did what I had to do. He's going to help me. He's going to get Noah back." Swallowing thickly, Annalise fought the urge to curse at her friend. She knew Eleni meant well, so she held her tongue. "The police would take ages to find him, but this journalist… I think… I think I can trust him."

"_You think you can trust him. You only _think_ you can. Anna, please listen to me. This is not right. One man can't help you track him down. Noah is too important to the government for this to be left up to a frickin' _reporter_._"

"Journalist," corrected Annalise, biting her lip. She'd made the same mistake last night when they were meeting at the Hard Rock. He hadn't hesitated in correcting her, so neither did she. "And I know. Noah _is_ important. That's why Tintin's going to help me. He's been on countless adventures around the world, and he's uncovered hundreds of illegal secrets, drug rings, and ancient temples. He's smart enough and perfectly able enough to help me."

"_You refer to him as if he's the lovechild of Indiana Jones and Sherlock Holmes_."

"In a sense, he very well could be."

Eleni huffed. "_You're planning on staking Noah's life on this ginger kid, then?_"

"He's not a kid, he's twenty-three. And yes, I think he is capable of finding Noah."

"_Anna, he's baby-faced, he walks around with a white dog and a drunk sea captain, and he dresses like a metrosexual. I see no reason to trust him with such a significant task._"

It was obvious that Eleni would not see her reasoning, no matter how long she pushed. The undertaking was pointless.

"Eleni, just… forget about it, okay?" She ran her free hand through her hair. "I have to go, anyway."

It took Eleni a moment to respond. "_You're meeting with him, aren't you_?"

"That's not your business."

"_Anna_!"

"So what if I am? We're going to find Noah!"

"_Anna, the police _have_ to be involved._" Her voice rose as she spoke, and then instantly dropped into practical silence. "_If you don't call them, I will_."

Annalise's eyes widened. "No, Eleni." She sat up in her chair, panic streaking across the lines of her face. "Y-You can't. Please don't."

"_And why not_?"

"Eleni, _trust me_. Don't call them." She took a breath. "I'll be honest. If we called the police, DEMCO would be… _furious_."

Silence. Nervously, she prodded at her earring.

Finally, her friend tried again. "_You won't call the police because of his business?_" Eleni asked.

"Yes."

Another sigh came from Eleni. She sounded tired of the whole argument. "_Fine. Fine, Anna, fine. You put your trust into a spineless European journalist. You trust him to find your missing fiancé. Don't call the police. But mark my words, you'll come crying to me when you find Noah dead in some alley, I swear._"

Annalise tried to keep composure as her friend went on. "_Call me when you find him. I want to hear just how well this thing carried out_." A loud gulp echoed from the receiver. "_Bye_."

With that, the line went dead.

Instantly, Annalise cried out. "Ow!" Blinking back tears, trying to gain a sense of strength to look past her friend's harsh words, Annalise glanced at the phone and noticed the faint redness dotting a few of the numbered buttons. Her earring had finally broken her skin.

_Wounded twice in one sitting_, she thought grimly. _How nice._

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note:<strong>To clarify the whole journalist/reporter deal, in the novelization of _The Adventures of Tintin: The Secret of the Unicorn_, it pretty much states that Tintin prefers to be referred to as a journalist instead of a reporter. My example is this quote from the beginning of the book:

_"I'm a journalist," Tintin corrected him. Reporters ran around yelling for quotes. Journalists hunted down stories and unraveled clues to uncover the truth. Tintin thought this was an important distinction._

(Copyright 2011 Paramount Pictures. All Rights Reserved)


	5. Chapter Five

**Chivalry**  
>An <em>Adventures of Tintin<em> Fanfic by SouthernImagineer/ecto1B  
>(A Modern Retelling)<br>Five.

* * *

><p>Tintin gnashed his teeth. He entered the shower stall, slid the glass door shut behind him, and promptly stripped his sleeping clothes from his clammy body. He pulled the yellow tee over his head, and then tugged his pajama bottoms down along with his boxers. Once he stood completely bare before the showerhead, Tintin lobbed the wad of clothes over the door to keep them from getting wet. Then, with an unhurried, weary motion, the young man stretched to switch the water on.<p>

The showerhead erupted with a mighty hiss, the sound stinging the depths of Tintin's ears. He cringed minutely, but then smiled when the frigid water gushed to strike his body. Sweat and dirt immediately began to slip down his skin and into the shower drain, settling his body temperature back to normal.

Doing his best to focus on becoming clean, Tintin shut his eyes and stepped further into the water's line of fire. He ignored any thoughts pertaining to his current mission, and instead concentrated on the feel of the water gliding across his face and torso.

_First things first_.

Tintin reached for the shampoo bottle on the shelf beside the showerhead. He gripped it, uncapped it, and squeezed a nickel-sized amount onto the palm of his hand. Before the substance could drip down his wrist, Tintin ran the shampoo through his coppery hair, working it down to his scalp and to the back of his neck, grinning contently all the while. Muscular, firm fingers massaged the crown of his head, down to his temples and the spot just beside his jaw.

_That hits the spot_. Reflexively, Tintin caught himself in a light moan. He squeezed his eyes shut and let his head fall back against the shower's back wall, while water splashed his hair and face and drained his head of the frothy shampoo.

_Conditioner_? Tintin eyed the second bottle with much curiosity. _I don't usually use it._ He opened his mouth to sigh and let a wave of water collect on his tongue. _Why not?_

As soon as the last of the conditioner had trickled from his shoulders, Tintin went for the body wash, and the blue sponge he'd brought from home. Depositing a decent glob onto the sponge's porous surface, Tintin worked the soap throughout his body, making sure to reach every dip and rise he possessed, just in case there was some mud stuck from his most recent trip.

Not only did he like looking clean, he liked _feeling_ clean, as well.

Finally, every last bubble had disappeared down the drain. Tintin took one last smell of the chilly water and the waning scent of his shampoo. He stuck his face beneath the shower's spray, ran his tongue across his teeth, and spun the dial to off.

* * *

><p>"Ya ready, lad?" Haddock tapped his Fossil watch. "It's almost noon."<p>

Tintin finished pulling his yellow, red, and blue striped shirt over his head as he exited the bathroom. His fingers delved to his waist, adjusting the belt that held his dark wash denim securely around his waist, and then he kicked a leg up, fixing the heel of his black Toms.

"Apparently you're not ready…" remarked the captain with a smile. "Ya got everything packed?"

"Yep. And the hotel staff will be bringing our luggage to the car while we meet with Miss Crane," Tintin said. He hooked his sunglasses on the front of his shirt. "Are _you_ ready?"

Snowy padded over to stand beside Haddock, and the captain scooped him up in one arm. "Never been readier, my boy. But d'ya have to dress so flamboyantly?" He paused, pursing his lips, observing Tintin's attire with a suspicious eye. "People are gonna start assumin' things if ya keep dressing like that, lad."

Instead of taking the words harshly, Tintin only chuckled. He understood where his friend was coming from. "I know. But, Captain, am I not entitled to look my best? To dress according to the latest fashions for men? I like to look decent when I go out. Besides, Americans dress differently than Europeans. I'm trying to fit in."

"Ya definitely are the definition of _metrosexual_, in that case," Haddock responded.

"Call me what you like." Tintin's eyes twinkled as he tried to keep a straight face. "You're just an average drunken sailor, then."

"Now, that, my boy, is where the conversation ends." Captain Haddock abruptly nudged the redhead aside as he neared the door, bumbling. "Excuse me. Every man for 'imself!"

Laughing, walking shoulder to shoulder down the hallway, Captain Haddock and Tintin strolled in the direction of the nearest elevator, their laughter accompanied by Snowy's gleeful yipping all the way.

* * *

><p>"Miss Crane." Politely genuflecting and taking her hand, Tintin greeted the young woman exactly how he'd greeted her the day before. She, in turn, did the same, letting the faintest of smiles grace her lips. "It is wonderful to see you again. I hope things are well?"<p>

The woman dipped her head, and a long blonde curl fell from behind her ear. "Thanks to your help and devotion towards my case, I am doing much better than I was yesterday."

"Fantastic." Tintin released her hand and took a step backwards, towards the his companion. "Miss Crane, I'd like you to meet a very good friend of mine, Captain Haddock." The captain ambled forward. "He will be joining us on our investigation, if you don't mind."

"Not at all." Her smile growing substantially, Annalise shook Haddock's hand. The motion was curt, but evocative. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Captain. I've heard so much about you from the papers." Her eyes shifted, landing on Tintin before returning to the captain. "Mr. Tintin's works go into great detail recounting your numerous escapades. You're obviously a great asset to him on his travels."

At this, Haddock beamed. "Why thank ya, lass." He hooked an arm around the smaller man's shoulder. "I do my best t' help him, no matter the mess he gets himself into."

"Oh, and who can forget Snowy?" Annalise bent down to say hello to the dog, which had been panting at her side since they'd arrived. She petted the spot behind his ears, faintly giggling when he woofed and leapt up to lick her chin. "Good dog."

With salutations and introductions coming to a close, Tintin sought it best to motion to a nearby picnic table.

"Why don't we continue our conversation over here? We have a great deal of discussing to do, and we should get started immediately."

The group migrated to the table at his suggestion. Snowy curled beside one of the benches, promptly falling asleep, while Haddock and Tintin took a seat across from Annalise.

"What to discuss first?" Annalise wanted to know, placing her purse on the bench beside her as the two men sat down. "We spoke about a great deal of things yesterday."

"I've already told the captain everything, so he's caught up." Tintin glanced at his friend.

"Aye," Haddock said. "I know all about it." He frowned. "I'm sorry 'you're your fiancé, lass. We'll get 'im back."

The woman curtly nodded. "Thank you. I appreciate it."

With a cough, hoping to urge her out of a saddened state, Tintin went on. "Perhaps we could consider a date for our departure to Alabama."

Annalise shuffled her feet. Her face was still drowned in a forlorn, distant atmosphere, with her gaze cold and her lips tightened. "I was going to suggest tomorrow morning. The sooner, the better, I think. It is not very far away."

"Well, if sooner is better," Tintin began, "how about tonight? I can check with the airport to see if there are any available flights. We can start our investigation tomorrow morning."

Eyebrows raised, Annalise nodded, gesturing with her hand. "A-And I can get hotel reservations," she added. "We stayed in a hotel near the military base last time I was there. I can check that hotel."

"I'll call fer a rental car," Haddock offered. "Somethin' nice. A car we can fit all our luggage in."

A smile slipped across Tintin's pale face. He ran a hand through his quiff and patted the table.

"I think we have a plan," he murmured.


	6. Chapter Six

**Chivalry**_  
><em>An_ _Adventures of Tintin_ Fanfic _by SouthernImagineer/ecto1B_  
><em>(A Modern Retelling)  
>Six.<p>

* * *

><p><strong>Warning: Graphic scene (blood).<strong>_  
><em>

_The viscous red liquid seeped in her hands, down her fingers, staining the padded tips crimson and collecting beneath her neatly manicured fingernails. A few droplets found their way to her wrists and pooled along the skin's grooves there. They were like exterior veins, curling themselves, forming intricate patterns as her hands rose higher into the air. A web of scarlet lines ornamented the ample flesh of her forearms, trickling, dancing, snaking back and forth, weaving unsystematically. A few reached her elbow and dripped down the creased outcrop, smearing the carpeted floor and the blue bed sheets._

_It was blood. She was covered in it, and it wasn't even hers._

_His name was a mantra in her mouth. Wax caught between her teeth. Glue sticking to the inside of her jaw. No matter how many times she spoke his name, pleaded with God, or cursed under her breath, the man lying there would not move. He would not respond. He would not open his eyes. Even when she'd dug her fingers into his shirt, rolling him in the bed so that he faced her, there was no excess movement. The skin she touched was cold. The eyes she yearned to see were dim, hidden beneath blood-marred eyelids. The ring on his left hand was soiled with dried crimson, marked in such a way that the gold material refused to shine, even when touched with sunlight from the nearby window._

_"Great snakes!"_

_Footsteps sounded as the hotel room door swung wide. Someone ran to her from behind. Arms locked about her waist, tugging her, heaving her from her position on the bed. The man's voice, too, switched to autopilot, and her name was repeated, parroted for moments and moments on end. Unlike her, though, his pitch changed dramatically over time. At first, he was loud. Vehement. Then, he became soft and soothing, her name accompanied by heavy breathing and a dry throat. He dragged her sobbing, blood-covered body to the ground, pulling her against him as he collapsed against the wall. Her body, as limp as the one lying on the bed, pitched into the journalist's small frame, and for a while, the two people became swathed in each other._

_"Anna… Anna… Anna…" The redhead's pale, flushed face buried in the woman's mess of tangled blonde hair as he wrenched her closer. "Anna… God, Anna… I'm so sorry… I'm so sorry… Anna…" _

_She reached out to the wall. A bloody handprint appeared on the blue wallpaper._

_"Noah…" Her words fell from her mouth in a single breath; they were hoarse, darkened beneath hyperventilating sobs. "Noah… not Noah… Oh God. Noah. Not Noah…"_

_The journalist, knowing there was nothing he could do to help his friend, shut his eyes and laid his lips atop her head._

_"I'm so sorry, Anna," he whispered. "I'm so sorry."_

* * *

><p><strong>Back to the present time…<strong>

They arrived at the hotel that evening, after a short flight and a brief drive from the airport. Captain Haddock, Tintin, and Snowy took one room, the one with two beds, while Annalise took the room across from them. Lights were out by eleven; all were rather exhausted when they reached the hotel, and no one stirred until midmorning. Tintin took his routine shower the second he awoke (Haddock claimed himself to still be clean after his shower the day previous, and no one felt the need to argue), and by nine-thirty, the gang had regrouped in the lobby, alert and ready to begin the investigation.

Tintin was desperate. Desperate for leads. His head reeled with the thrill of visiting a new place, embarking on a new adventure. How could he keep calm when the mystery of Noah Woodcraft's disappearance sat before him like a freshly baked chocolate cake, just waiting to be attacked with a fork? And the atmosphere, the people, and the land differed dramatically from his home in Brussels. That, too, aided in galvanizing him. At the airport, he'd received kind smiles from workers there, handshakes and dips of the head from flight attendants and crewmembers that knew his name on the spot. How was he not to become exhilarated by the rush of new experiences?

Tintin exited the elevator and stepped into the hotel's lobby, ready to tackle anything Annalise Crane threw at him.

She was quick.

"I believe I have our first lead," Annalise said as Haddock and Tintin took a seat on the opposite couch. She set her purse down on the coffee table, glancing briefly around the lobby before extracting her cell phone from the bag's depths. "One of Noah's associates here in Alabama called me before I came downstairs."

Tintin, still on his rather enthusiastic high, leaned his elbows on his knees and folded his hands in front of his mouth to hide his waning smile. "Continue."

"James Cochran." Annalise held up a photo on her phone. It was of two men, shoulder to shoulder, dressed in business suits. One was wearing a trucker hat atop his unruly black hair. The other was Annalise's fiancé, Noah. Tintin recognized him from another photo Annalise had shown him during their first meeting. "James is Noah's closest friend here in Alabama. They were childhood friends that coincidentally wound up working for the same company. I found him yesterday and left him a message. Luckily, he responded."

"Wha' did the man have to say 'bout Noah?" Haddock asked.

Annalise visibly swallowed. "He's worried. He, too, hasn't heard from him since Friday. Apparently they were going to meet for coffee on Saturday morning, and Noah never showed up."

"How does Mr. Cochran help us, though? What information can he provide to us that we haven't yet acquired? He has had the same exposure to this case as we have." Tintin rolled his shoulders a bit, blinking at the woman. "Or does he have any crucial details about the moments before Noah's disappearance? About the assignment he was working on? The companies vying for the job?"

"I'm getting to that. He does." Tintin's eyes lit up at her words. "But he actually asked to meet with us in an hour or two so he can give us the information in person. His Southern hospitality demands a good conversation… _not_ one over the phone."

Haddock and Tintin exchanged glances, glances that only they could interpret.

"That's perfect," Tintin said after a second's pause. "Where are we meeting him?"

Tintin had taken classes on body language, and it was easy for him to detect Annalise's discomfort by the way her body language shifted at his question. Her gaze diverted to the left, her fingers locked on her lap, her chin lowered, and her body became smaller, as if protecting herself from harm.

"Erm… well, here's the thing." She paused to cough. "James and a few of his more… _redneck_… friends… are on a barbecuing team. They… um… have a competition today in a nearby town, and James has… well, he's requested we visit him… there…" she trailed off, catching herself in another cough.

The captain scratched his beard. "Barbecuing?"

Annalise waved a hand. "You'll understand when we get there. But do you mind? These are… _very_ Southern people." She gulped. "I was afraid you two would feel out of place with them."

Tintin shrugged. "They're just people."

"_Loud_ people," Annalise added. "A gregarious bunch. I've met James before, and he's normally very relaxed, but I've never been around him while he's barbecuing, however, so I can't guarantee anything there. Noah says James can get pretty redneck around his grill. And his wife was born and raised here in Alabama; she could be a little loopy."

"Look here, lass." At last, the captain spoke more than a single word. He wagged a wrinkly finger at Annalise, his bushy brows furrowing to the bridge of his nose while he spoke. "Tintin an' I have been all 'cross the world, encounterin' folks from all walks of life. I think we can handle some American rednecks for an hour or two."

Annalise released herself from her defensive position. "Are you sure?"

"The captain's right, Miss Crane—"

"_Annalise_."

Tintin smirked, and she faintly smiled back. "Oh, my apologies. _Annalise_. We are fully prepared to face these Southerners. Especially if it will grant us more information about Noah."

Haddock slapped his shoulder.

"Good on ya, lad."

The woman across from the men tried to conceal her face, the corners of her lips rising considerably at their banter. "I'm glad you believe you can handle them," she said. "You're going to need that confidence when we do meet them."

Tintin, flashing his best, most handsome toothy grin, bobbed his head.

"As you Americans say, _bring it on_."


	7. Chapter Seven

**Chivalry**  
>An <em>Adventures of Tintin<em> Fanfic by SouthernImagineer/ecto1B  
>(A Modern Retelling)<br>Seven.

* * *

><p>Save for the occasional rock song on the radio, the car was relatively quiet as it wandered down the road towards the small town of Gurley, Alabama. Captain Haddock, in the midst of a frantic game of Angry Birds, sat in the backseat with Snowy, who was dozing in his lap. Every once in a while, the captain would grunt in disapproval at a poor shot, but for the most part, the game kept him busy. Annalise, who was driving, and Tintin, sitting beside her in the passenger's seat, had been silent the entire ride, which was surprising, given the fact that they were so easy to converse before. Tintin believed it was her nerves that kept her from talking. The very moment they'd entered the rental car, her hand had dove for the radio, eager to find some subtle ambience.<p>

Now, as a Tom Petty song wafted through the speakers, Tintin brought up the courage to speak. He removed his gaze from the scenery outside (which amazed him. There was so much empty, clear _land_, unlike much of the European countries he'd visited. It was absolutely beautiful!) and turned to study the woman seated beside him.

"When we spoke at the restaurant, we only discussed the situation with Noah." As he spoke, he saw Annalise's eyes briefly divert to him. "I never got a chance to learn about you."

Without removing her hands from the wheel, Annalise shrugged. "I'm not a very interesting person, to be perfectly honest."

Tintin leaned his elbow on the dashboard, now fully facing her. "I'd like to hear some. Just to get a good visual picture of Miss Annalise Crane. I've heard a lot about Noah, but not about you, and a bit of knowledge would help on an assignment such as this one. Do you work?"

"I did," she responded. "Coming out of college, I had a job as a clerk at Barnes and Noble. But when Noah and I moved to Louisville, I had to quit. I haven't been able to find a job since."

"What did you major in?"

"Public relations. I want to be an event coordinator. Apparently I host the best parties." Briefly, she smiled, but it faded as she continued. "Noah loves that about me. I met him at college, when we ran into each other—literally—while heading to our classes. He was the best student in the whole school, so I threw him a graduation party. He loved that."

"Where did you two go?"

Another grin appeared on her face, this one wider than the other. "Dartmouth. I'm originally from Vermont, and he's from Kentucky, but he wanted to go all the way to Dartmouth for their engineering program. It's exceptional."

Tintin leaned back in his seat, crossing his arms across his checkered button-down. "Obviously he's a talented engineer. DEMCO doesn't hire just anyone, as far as I'm aware." Realizing that he was straying away from the topic he'd opted for, he swallowed and tilted his head. "What else is there to know about you? What about your family? Where do they live?"

The stoplight ahead boasted a red light, and Annalise slowed the car down. "My family's not an interesting bunch. My parents and grandmother still live in Vermont. I have cousins in California, a sister in Maine, and an uncle somewhere in Montana, but that's about it."

The light changed to green, and the car lurched forward.

"Do you keep in touch with your family?" Tintin asked. "Do they know about what's happened to Noah?"

Much to his surprise, the woman shook her head. "I know it's really awful of me to say, but I haven't spoken to any of them since Friday, so no, they have no idea. And I usually call my mother up Monday mornings, so she must be pretty worried." She bit her lip and nibbled the skin there. "I don't… I don't even think Noah's father knows."

"His father?" Tintin quirked an eyebrow.

"Noah's alone, besides his father and I. His mom's somewhere in Australia, I think, but he hasn't talked to her in years. She and his father didn't split on very good terms."

A surge of a certain feeling, tasting somewhat like discomfort, pervaded Tintin's tongue. He swallowed it back. "Again, Annalise, I do not mean to pry. You don't have to tell me these things if they make you uncomfortable."

Before she could open her mouth to respond, a bump in the road caused the car and the group to pitch forwards awkwardly. Haddock cried out in surprise in the backseat, losing his grip on his phone. The device made a loud clunk on the floor of the car when it hit.

"Thunderin' typhoons!" Out of the corner of his eye, Tintin watched the captain retrieve his phone from beneath the seat, wiping the screen with his black jacket and blowing away dust from the frame. "Watch where yer drivin', eh, lass? Or at least let me know when ya see a bump!"

Annalise giggled, knowing his tone was anything but angry. "I'm sorry, Captain. My mistake." She adjusted her grip on the wheel and lightly drummed her fingertips on the leather seal. "You can go back to your game."

Grumbling ludicrous obscenities and fighting a smile beneath his beard, the captain obeyed, just as a classic Journey song appeared on the radio.

"So, what about you?" Annalise wondered, now directing herself at Tintin. With one hand, she lowered the volume of "What's the story behind the world famous boy reporter?"

Cracking a smile and sitting up in his seat, the redhead replied. "There's not much to tell, really."

"Oh, come now. I want to learn about you."

A recollecting glint emerged in his eyes, one he feared she recognized. "Trust me. You don't want to hear it."

If she detected his insecurity, she paid it no mind. "But Tintin, I've shared my story with you. I want to hear yours. Everything I know about you comes from the articles you write, and that's not even much to go on. I want to learn more."

He shook his head. "It's not a very decent story."

"That doesn't mean I have no desire to hear it." She ran a hand through her hair and flashed him a pout. "Please? I can't work alongside you without knowing at least _something_. Were you born in Belgium?"

Steadily, he nodded, mentally pleading that she would not go where he most dreaded. "Yes. I grew up there, as well."

"In Brussels?"

"Yes. I never left until I was seventeen or so."

"And what about your family? Have they remained in Belgium this whole time?"

_Shit. She had to ask._

Tintin recoiled and quickly fabricated a reasonable answer_. _"The captain," he said after a moment's hesitation, "is my family, and the only family I'll ever need. I'm lucky to have him."

Annalise seemed unsettled by his reply. She stole a glance in his direction, but made sure to keep her focus on the road. "I thought you two were not related by blood."

"We aren't."

"Then…"

"I was an orphan," he said, letting the bitterness finally emerge and singe his words. "A nameless, unwanted child. Found on the doorstep of an orphanage in Brussels when I was but a month old. They claimed they were never able to locate my kin," his gaze grew solemn, hardening and fastening to the car's carpeted floor, "but I think they only told me that so I wouldn't make a fuss. They'd been able to find other families in the past. Mine must've died out or something. The entire deal was very under wraps." He paused, reminiscing. "When I was about eleven, I submitted a piece I'd written at school to the local paper, and, to my luck, they accepted it. Days later, an older gentleman showed up at the orphanage and declared that he had been astonished by my work, and that he was going to pay for me to attend college. After all, I was two grades ahead of other children my age; I deserved it. I graduated college at seventeen and was immediately hired by _The Daily Reporter_." Another pause surfaced, giving the man a moment to grasp composure once more. The story was difficult to tell, but he believed Annalise needed to hear it. She had to trust him, after all. "You probably know the rest of the tale. My fame sprung up around that time."

The car came to another intersection, halting just before the white line on the pavement, and briefly the vehicle sealed into a gentle tranquility. Tintin identified the silence as sincere rumination, and, to be polite, he permitted Annalise to contemplate the story. Perhaps she required a bit of time to fully absorb them. Or perhaps she was recalling her own life, comparing the both of theirs.

Finally, she spoke, and her words were sad, dirtied with sympathy. "I… I'm sorry. I should not have intruded that far into your life." Still stopped at the red light, Annalise looked at him, stared at him, as if Tintin's entire childhood, every bloody scar, every hunger pain, every night spent curled in a dark alley, was written across his face in black, permanent ink. Tintin stared back as she scrutinized him, almost displaying a sense of defiance, hoping she would not judge him for this truth on his face. Annalise was not dumb; he knew. She was capable of filling in the blanks, visualizing the amount of turmoil his childhood had conquered. And he could tell that was what she was doing right then. The only thing that mattered was how she translated the information. How would she view him now? Like so many, would she baby him because of this knowledge?

He prayed that would not be the case.

"Even though I don't believe I was ready for that information," she continued, "I can tell you this, Tintin: I trust you more than I did previously. Thank you for disclosing such sensitive details to me. I appreciate the gesture."

Tintin wrenched his gaze away from her. "Of course. You are entrusting me with this pivotal task. It is only fair that you learn to trust me." The faintest of smiles manifested from his frown as he noted the friendship forming between them. "You don't have to apologize for gaining my trust."

A noisy AC/DC song blared through the radio next, terminating their conversation. Tintin watched Annalise mouth the lyrics and lightly bob her head while driving. Her blonde hair bounced as she did so.

Tintin wasn't sure about the mission ahead, or anything pertaining to it, for that matter, but one thing was certain. After such a powerful conversation, he could now call the woman beside him a friend, and that, he knew, was the greatest advantage of all.


End file.
